


caught in the (summer) heat

by arevo



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Fluff, M/M, Making Out, Summer Heat, Teasing, the closest i will ever get to nsfw
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-05-19
Updated: 2017-05-19
Packaged: 2018-11-02 09:02:06
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 863
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10941252
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/arevo/pseuds/arevo
Summary: It's hot. And they're wet.





	caught in the (summer) heat

**Author's Note:**

> sooooo i'm taking forever to write the next chapter of 'i'll ask not' but here's a fluffy TsukkiAka drabble in the meantime cause boy did i need some fluff

It’s hot. And they’re wet.

 

Tsukishima kicks off his shoes and strips off his socks, grumbling under his breath. The torrents that had pummelled them for the last half hour had done a marvellous job of dousing him down to the skin. Yet, somehow, the blazing heat of Tokyo summer refused to relent.

“This city is inhumane,” he grumbles.

“You baby,” Akaashi says flatly, but his lips quirk into a smirk. He leans into the hand on Tsukishima’s shoulder as he works through the laces on his shoes. “You’ll survive.”

“Nope. I’m going to cook to death.”

“Is it really that hot?” Akaashi asks, fingers trailing down his arm as he stepped past him into the hallway. Nonchalantly and with no pre-amble, he pulls off his wet t-shirt. 

Tsukishima stares, drinking in the rare show of Akaashi. He never expressed discomfort about nudity with Tsukki, but he didn’t seem to think of his clothing as any more uncomfortable. Running made him lean and strong, and despite his best efforts, Akaashi has a hard farmer’s tan. The change in his skin colour is along a clear line. 

“What?” Akaashi asks, running his hands through his flattened hair. 

“Nice tan,” Tsukishima snorts, standing. He reaches out, fingers mingling with the hairs at the nape of his neck, and leans down to kiss him, an incomplete, teasing glance off the lips. Akaashi reacts, infinitesimally, a little inhalation and a compliant tilt of the chin. 

They know each other by now.

Tsukishima smirks, pulling Akaashi’s hair once before letting go. He walks past him, yanking his shirt off over his head and vanishing into the bedroom. Akaashi can hear the buckle of his belt sliding apart. 

Akaashi waits.

And waits.

Until Tsukishima is leaning against the doorframe in boxers and a dry t-shirt. “I’m not gonna kiss you when you’re covered in mold,” he says.

“It’s too hot for mold to grow,” Akaashi replies dryly. 

“Would you just get changed already?”

“Fine, fine,” Akaashi relents. As he slips past Tsukishima’s languid frame, he pinches the waist of his boxers and lets them snap against his hip.  
Tsukishima yelps more from surprise than pain, glaring at Akaashi as he slides his shorts over his hips. 

It’s bloody hot in here.

He’s unhitched from the doorframe, and his fingers graze the skin of Akaashi’s waist as the latter nimbly steps out of reach. He’s smiling, green eyes bright. 

There’s a stir in Tsukishima’s abdomen as he narrows his eyes. Akaashi waves his hips, once, twice, teasing the edge of his boxers down an inch or two. Tsukishima colours faintly.

“Cheater,” he growls, and Akaashi grins.

“You started it.”

“Did not.”

“Did to.” 

Tsukishima makes a quick step towards him, just missing again as Akaashi skirts around the corner of the bed. He raises his chin in a challenge, biting his lip. 

“That’s not fair,” Tsukishima complains. He slides a step closer. 

“I have no idea what you mean.” Akaashi waits until Tsukishima is within arms distance before making the dash over the bed, but Tsukishima is tall and clever, and he manages to loop his arms around Akaashi’s waist, turning his momentum into swing. They crash into unmade blankets. Akaashi’s laughing.

“Caught you,” Tsukishima breathes in his ear, chin on his shoulder.

“What ever shall I do now?” Akaashi says. 

“Accept your fate, I suppose,” Tsukishima replies mildly, pressing his lips against his neck. Akaashi shivers and Tsukishima takes it as encouragement.

Akaashi’s bare shoulder blades welcome Tsukishima lips and his teeth, and Akaashi makes these soft, delicious sounds until he can’t stand it anymore. He rolls Akaashi onto his back, and the latter casually steadies Tsukishima’s hips between his knees. His dark hair is wild. He reaches up and removes Tsukishima’s glasses, catching the back of his neck and pulling him down. 

Tsukishima’s hands move from Akaashi’s waist to his hips to his ass to the sensitive swath of skin on the back of his thighs, fingers digging into his skin. Akaashi’s gasps against his lips, palms against the sides of his throat, fingers tangled in his hair.

There’s a familiar rhythm to this, as Tsukishima ducks under his throat to leave distinctive purple shapes. It’s one of the first things Tsukishima discovered about what Akaashi likes, what makes him giddy and hazy and hot without fail. A shiver runs through him, and he rises obediently to Tsukishima’s touch anywhere he puts his hands. 

“Not fair,” Akaashi gasps, but it lacks any conviction. Tsukishima grins against the hollows on his collar bones. 

“Want me to stop?” he teases, raising his head so their noses brush. Akaashi steals a kiss, catching his lip teasingly between his teeth.

“I hope that’s a rhetorical question,” his says breathily, arms extending comfortably over Tsukishima’s shoulders.

“You hope,” Tsukishima echoes, hand sliding from thigh, over his hip to his exposed stomach. He trails his index finger down his abdomen, past his belly button, drumming his fingertips at the waistband of his boxers. “I might have other plans.”

Akaashi blushes.

“Objections?” Tsukishima raises his eyebrows. “Seeing as I won this round.”

“I’ll happily accept the consolation prize,” Akaashi purrs. 

Tsukishima smirks against his lips. 


End file.
